


First Times and the Last Time

by ProlificPen



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Darilium, F/M, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 07:47:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5700616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProlificPen/pseuds/ProlificPen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>River and the Doctor experience their first times and their last time. Fluff. </p><p>Vague spoilers for the Husbands of River Song if you squint hard enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Times and the Last Time

**Author's Note:**

> One of those stream of consciousness fics that grabs you and demands to be written. Feedback is always welcome.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction and is not being used for any commercial or improper purpose. All characters and settings are the property of their respective owners including Doctor Who, Stephen Moffatt, and the BBC. No infringement is intended.

**First Times and the Last Time**

> _River’s First_

The Doctor is not her first, not by a long shot, but the first time they are together—her first time—River feels almost virginal.

He is the Doctor. She has spent lifetimes obsessing over him: listening to Amy’s stories of the Doctor while they grew up together and then as an Archaeology student at University. At this point, he is almost mythical to her, and it is damn intimidating.

And that is saying something because River Song is not easily intimidated. So, she tries desperately not to show it, but her fingers shake as she tries to undo the ridiculous bow tie he insists on wearing. And she probably stares a bit too long before sliding his unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders.

But, dammit, it's not fair. It is her first time with the man she has spent a lifetime studying, obsessing over, falling in love with, but it is not his first time. Oh no, it is clearly not his first time by a long shot.

He knows the spot just below her ear makes her knees go weak and causes her entire body to flush. His hands trail her body delicately, but it is clear they are moving over familiar territory, mapping peaks and valleys he already knows by heart. Every move he makes is obviously calculated to drive her wild.

River has always imagined he would be a skillful lover; his goofy child-like persona has never fooled her. Instead, she has always recognized the sensitive, sensual personality that lives just below the surface of his juvenile bravado. But she had never quite pictured this.

He knows her. He knows her better than any lover who has come before.

And so, she curls her fingers in his hair, his floppy brown locks providing excellent something tangible to hold onto as she tries to find some grip on reality while his head is buried between her legs. As his fingers and mouth work together in a carefully orchestrated pattern, she knows he has done this before.

And that thought makes her shiver. Their relationship has always been unconventional: a backwards love story. For now, the Doctor knows her, but one day, it will be she who knows the doctor when he does not know her at all.

She does not have much time to dwell on this idea because he does something with his fingers and suddenly her head is falling back against the pillows while his name comes from her lips in a scream.

When he slides back up her body, hovering over her with a grin, she muses, “Where did you learn how to do that?”

“Spoilers, River Song. Spoilers,” He teases, lowering his lips to hers in a passionate kiss that threatens to steal the breath from her lungs.

 _Spoilers_. He is always throwing that word around, and in time, she has come to find that she loves the way it falls off his lips. She will have to remember it in the future, and maybe it will have the same arousing effect on him as it does for her.

With their lips still together, he slides into her with a practiced ease, and River exhales into his mouth at the sensation. As they find an easy rhythm, she reaches her hand out to brush a few stray locks of hair away from his forehead. He is looking at her with an expression of sadness and longing that doesn’t quite match the newness of their relationship.

But, of course, their relationship is only new to one of them. It is all a bit overwhelming, and she begins to doubt whether she has the fortitude to continue. But when he slips his hand between their bodies, reaching down to move her pleasure along, she easily forgets those insecurities.

It is just her and the Doctor, and nothing else matters.

She screams his name, and he calls hers not long after. Her eyes are still closed and her chest still heaving when he collapses next to her. After a few moments, she feels him shift on the bed beside her, and she opens her eyes to look at him.

He is studying her, and she is reminded that, though he has the face of a child, the Doctor has lived a thousand years. He knows this is her first time, and the curious look on his face is a silent verification of her well-being.

She smiles because she knows that, although it is her first time, it isn’t her last..

* * *

> _The Doctor’s First_

The Doctor can’t help but giggle during his first time with River Song. She is equal parts terrifying, frustrating, and maddeningly sexy. She waltzes—River Song has never walked in in her life—into a room and is somehow always in charge. And the idea of being with this woman, who is the living embodiment of hell in high heels, makes him giggle out of terror… or amusement, he isn’t quite sure.

River Song goads him. She pushes every button perfectly. She thinks she is in charge of every situation, and her fashion sense leaves much to be desired: bow ties ARE cool and so are fezzes and Stetsons. She’s an Archaeologist for crying out loud.

But, just now, he can’t continue this inner critique of the woman because there really isn’t much the Doctor can think about River Song beyond the feeling of her teeth scraping against his earlobe as she deftly undoes his bow tie with one hand. Maybe this time he does not quite mind if she has the upper hand, as she always seems to in these sorts of situations.

In fact, he is pretty sure he does not mind at all when she slips his suspenders from his shoulders and makes quick work of unbuttoning his shirt, her lips making a series of kisses to mark where each of his buttons had been. It is intoxicating, and all his hands can do are flail about aimlessly as she finally reaches the waistband of his pants. Kneeling in front of him, her eyes glance upward, and the Doctor is suddenly certain that River Song has never been so terrifying and maddeningly sexy in her life.

She makes quick work of his pants and boxers while he finally finds a place for his hands within her auburn curls. And then she is suddenly standing in front of him, her nose inches from his own, and a murmured “River Song” falls from his lips just before she kisses him.

As her tongue battles with his own, the Doctor is suddenly acutely aware that he is naked, and she is not. He realizes, his mind a cloudy haze of confusion and arousal, that he is supposed to begin undressing her. His fingers shake and fumble, and he cannot quite shed the awkwardness he always has around her as he tries to work the dress over her head.

She has, apparently, dealt with his awkwardness before because she finally just shakes her finger at him and removes the dress herself. He knows his chin drops when he finally sees her standing before him, but she does not tease him for gaping at her.

Instead, her expression is almost predatory as she places her hands on his shoulders, pushing him hard back against the bed. His knees buckle when they hit the edge of the bed, and he allows himself to fall back against the soft surface, staring up at the woman who seems almost larger than life.

Without words, she communicates to him that _she_ will be on top this time, and for a moment, he considers protesting. But he doesn’t, and not just because the sight of River Song above him, curls splayed around her shoulders her body unabashedly on display for him, is not something he cares to dissuade.

He doesn’t protest because somehow he knows she is inevitable. Time can be rewritten but not River Song. Not his hell in high heels, not the woman who sacrificed herself for him, and Donna, in the library. River Song is inevitable, and it's time to stop fighting that.

And so he doesn’t fight it. Instead, he smirks as he places his hands on her hips, helping her along. They reach their peaks together, and they are both breathing heavily when she collapses forward against his chest, her hair tickling across his face. It takes a few moments, but conscious thought finally returns to him.

His ego grows a bit as he recalls the way she had screamed his name, and a smirk crosses his face as he remembers something she had said to him during one of their prior meetings. He can’t help the laugh that escapes his lips, and she finally lifts her head from his chest to look at him curiously.

Answering the question she didn’t need to ask, he simply explains, “You’re quite the screamer, River Song.”

* * *

> _Their Last_

They don’t know their last time is the last time. She has heard that their last night together would be at the Singing Towers of Darillium, and when he first met her in the Library, she had all but confirmed it.

So it is a bit of a denial, perhaps, but they’re time travelers. Their love story has been mostly back to front, but as the Doctor often reminds her, time is not always linear. And time can be rewritten. Maybe knowing it is supposed to be their last time is enough to ensure it won’t be.

They both try desperately not to think of the possibility, and when their lips first meet, standing in the room he has reserved for their Christmas on Darillium, it is so overwhelming that they can’t think of anything else. Then, his hands tangle themselves in her curls while her own fingers dance at the short gray hairs at the base of his neck, and suddenly neither one cares about anything else beyond the moment at hand.

He is in a new body—a Regeneration he was never supposed to have. He’s taller with a bit less chin. His gray hair and chiseled features are a stark contrast to the floppy-hair and youthful features his last Regeneration had favored. The age difference hasn’t changed, but somehow, it does feel a bit more natural now that his face seems to match his age.

He’s Scottish, now, which is possibly the biggest surprise of all, and River can’t help but wonder if it's some sort of imprint from the influence of her mother on his previous Regeneration. That thought, of course, brings up all sorts of Oedipal issues that she would rather not think of, and so she busies herself with removing his clothing.

She smiles approvingly at the new body that matches his face, and when she meets his gaze, he winks. There is not a hint of self consciousness, and why would there be? He’s the Doctor.

It's different than it has been before. They’re both older, more experienced. And, for the first time, they are meeting in the right order. She’s nearly at the end of her diary, and he’s stopped carrying his own. There is little chance for spoilers, and neither has the proverbial upper hand on the other. It is a meeting of equals, and there is no battle for the upper hand.

But it is also very much the same. His hands, a bit larger than before, still ghost along her body, mapping the familiar curves. His fingers are a bit more calloused, but they still know exactly how to drive her wild and draw out her pleasure until his name is leaving her lips in a scream.

When his head is buried between her legs, his hair isn’t quite long enough for her to grab hold of, but she finds that she can just as easily grasp the sheets instead. They fit together differently, but it doesn’t take long to adjust. They move together easily, and for the first time, he laces the fingers of his left hand with those of her right and holds it on the pillow next to her head.

She screams, and he calls her name. It sounds different. Scottish. But she finds that she enjoys it all the same.

He doesn’t let go of her hand, even when he drops himself to her side, his arm laying possessively across her midsection. Neither of them speaks, choosing instead to lay together listening to the towers sing just outside.

It certainly doesn’t feel like a last time. But, then, the Doctor knows that it almost never does.

 


End file.
